Thanksgiving Confessions

I have a confession…I am not a fan of Thanksgiving and I hate clowns.  Clowns are scary and so is Thanksgiving. I am a big fan of the concept of the holiday, being grateful and spending time with family…it’s the food that freaks me out.  For those that know me that might come as a surprise as I am a fan of eating, it’s just the idea of having piles of food sitting in front of me like a Country Kitchen Buffet that creeps me out.  My family and Phil are well aware of my fears regarding this holiday and while they think I’m overly dramatic (who me?) in my perceptions and reactions, they quietly    ignore my fear of piles of stuffing sitting next to piles of tators.

The one thing I am not is a “dieter”, you will never see me weighing my food or counting out wheat thins. I love a good burger and more than that I am obsessed with pizza, and then of course there is my wine habit. It’s not the type of food on the table, it’s the amount and the time allotted to consume it.  People (not me as in EVER) spend hours shopping, baking, chopping and mashing to prepare and serve the perfect feast for family and friends on Thanksgiving. Nothing says holiday like food, and celebration is directly related to eating as well as drinking. When I think of Thanksgiving I think of one thing, and that is the moment when I have to sit down and try my best to control my serving hand when plopping those mashed potatoes onto my plate. I confess that I am a big lover of carbs of the white kind. That’s not to say I actually eat them, but why lie and act all holier than thou and pretend I care not for a buttery roll and some useless calories?  I could easily eat myself into a mashed potato and gravy comma, washed down with some Merlot.  As a matter of fact who even cares about the stupid Turkey, green beans or stuffing? To me they are just the little side dishes for the main course of spuds.  Maybe it’s not so much I hate Thanksgiving dinner, as I fear it. When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time convincing my parents why I should not have to go to my grandparents for Thanksgiving dinner. OMG…soooooooo…boringgggg. Snooze –a-Thon dull. I had no cousins to romp with, just my brothers who at that age chose teasing me as the sport of the day. Going to the grandparents meant pretending I enjoyed wearing some floral apron and “helping” the women folk in the kitchen. Nothing about me says “kitchen” or “apron”. I wanted to be outside running or pestering my brothers.

Now its many years later and I just can’t seem to shake my dislike for that dinner of mass proportions and sitting for what seems like hours. I suppose it’s the left over trauma of my childhood apron wearing Thanksgivings.  I do however love Christmas, a holiday that lasts a month and the food is more like one long 30 day graze. As I watch all these morning television shows that showcase low calorie options for Thanksgiving, I am thinking of my clients. I hope they don’t actually think anyone of us is actually substituting white spuds for brown rice on Thanksgiving.  One day out of the year is not going to break you. As a matter of fact I am a firm believer in allowing yourself to be human occasionally.  It’s much easier to stay on track when it doesn’t feel like a sacrifice of everything thing you enjoy. I will survive this holiday by focusing on what matters, being grateful for good health and the love I am surrounded by…and the potatoes.